Alone
by ECduwlalredn82392
Summary: Submission for the Soft Of Beautiful Challenge.


"**SORT OF BEAUTIFUL CHALLENGE" Entry**

**'Alone'**

**ECduwlalredn82392**

**If you would like to see all the stories that are a part of this challenge visit the "SORT OF BEAUTIFUL CHALLENGE" profile page:**

**http://www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/u/2046940/**

**DISCLAIMER: Twilight characters and related likeness owned by Stephenie Meyer, Little Brown Publishing. No profits have been received in the production of this piece.**

Finger nails trailed down the side of my body, straight to my hips and then up again. My lips connected with her, any piece of skin I could reach. I turned around, onto her back. Hands in hair, hip to hip, forehead to forehead. I was breathing the puffs from her mouth, giving her mine, back and forth. We were keeping each other alive, in that moment. Sparks setting the fires in the ends of my toes and all the way up. I plant another kiss to her lips, focusing on the way her mouth molded around mine, how our nose don't knock like Jared said happened when you kissed a girl too fast. No, no matter how fast we kissed, how reckless we mashed our lips together; our noses knew their spots, never ruining the moment.

She smiled, and my hands caressed her bare stomach. She slipped her hands over my shoulders, squeezing, and I in turn drew shapes up her back. Twirling my pinkie on each bump and curve of her spine; when I flattened my palm on the small expanse above her pants, I was holding her in my hand. And with every kiss, every glide of warm breath over cold skin, it was so in sync, like our bodies knew and planned it's routines. This went on, a passionate game of Simon Says. Giving and receiving. Back and forth. And when we were completely lost, when I couldn't tell the time of day, or think of anything but the long expanse of her neck, when all that and more had passed between us, through us, I knew Leah Clearwater wasn't just the challenge I had been hoping. She was the whole game, the one in which I knew I would never win.

__

"Jake?"

My head was pounding, and the sun was too bright. Tricks were being played on the inside of my eye lids, bright reds and spiraling yellows. I could feel Leah on the side of my body, leg slung over mine, her head over my heart. But that wasn't her voice, it was too rough.

I blinked hard, and tilted my head up, taking in the form of little Seth Clearwater. His mouth was gaping, but underneath all of that, I could see the anger pulsing through his veins, the deep wrinkles between his eyebrows got deeper. Seth, he wasn't little, no matter what his nickname was, the boy had grown and I really didn't want to get into anything with him. I'd seen the way he threw a football, and though I was bigger than him, I wasn't in the mood to fight anyone. So I shifted away from Leah, trying my hardest not to wake her, and when she didn't stir, I put my hands out, open and inviting.

"Look man-" Seth clenched his teeth.

"Save it Jacob. I went looking for you, your sister and Paul went looking for you, no one could find you… I wonder why…" He trailed off a little and his features weren't hostile anymore, they were sympathetic and sorry. "It's your dad Jake… he's in the hospital."

_Billy._

_Billy._

_Billy._

My legs tingled, urging me to get up, to move. Air compressed my chest; my heart was seized, pushed and pumped faster, faster, and faster; until the flush in my ear whispered his name: _Dad._

_Dad._

_Dad._

_Dad._

Hands aching to hit something, someone; my face paralyzed by surprise and disbelief. I hardly noticed when I slowly got out of the bed with heavy breath. It was as if my mind skipped over the memory of me getting up, buttoning my pants, pushing past Seth, out the door. My mind fast-forwarded to when my car sat in a parking spot, my tall lank body wedged into my Rabbit. I squeezed the steering wheel, trying to even out the hammering of my lungs.

_He's fine… He's Fine… He's fine…_

The mantra flashed and spread across my brain, it came out in whispers from my lips and I tried as hard as I could to believe it. But from the back of my mind, I heard the deafening truth. That Billy had been sick for a while, his diabetes acting up, blood sugar too low no matter how much I kept up with his diet and insulin. Urgency slipped into his skin, a pull was tugging at him, to go into the hospital.

The one place I had avoided since I lost her…

The place where I knew I would lose my other, my last parent.

Legs stiff from the compact car, I took swift steps through the _whir_ing automatic doors, overlooking the blurred faces of young mothers, children, grandparents who were waiting in vinyl chairs for good news or bad. Who still had shreds of hope, clinging to the possibility that maybe it wasn't as bad as it seemed. They didn't have knowledge pushing them to absolution, they weren't me.

"William Black, please." I clenched my teeth looking at the woman with horn rimmed glasses staring up at me.

"And you are, dear?" Generic questions.

"I'm his son, Jacob." Generic answers.

"Do you have any identification?"

I tossed my license on the counter for her, and as she handed it back to me, she spoke just three simple numbers: 823

"Thanks."

I dug my hands further into my pockets, huddling my shoulders, sweeping my eyes from one door to another, looking for my father and the room that held him. And as if my own brain was trying to protect me, save me from total breakdown, my eyes bypassed her room, the one from so many years ago. Strides long but timid, scared of what I would find, but searching for the relief of Billy's presences. My chin quivered as I walked by room 821.

822.

823.

Palm pressed hard over the laminate grainy wood, door squealing and the soft hit of disinfected air blowing over my cheeks. And there he was, Dad. His body was small under the knit blanket thrown over him. His face paler than I had ever seen him, black crescented under his eyes; even his eyelids, seemed weak as they rested, droopily. His usually thunderous snores were turned to soft mewls emanating from his lips.

My feet shuffled over to his side, crouching beside his bed, my hand grasped his. I assumed Rachel was still looking for me, or she would have been in the spot I was, crying over him.

We were alone, and we had nothing to say to each other. Billy slept, and I sat with my legs crossed on the floor by his bed, still clutching his hand. My eyes were swollen, but no tears came. Dad slept on, and we had nothing to say. As pinks and oranges filtered from the sun into the room, drawing shadows over the linoleum. We had nothing to say to each other, because my throat wouldn't open, and because Billy still wouldn't wake up. His silence was unavoidable, but mine was fear.

And when Rachel finally showed up, sobbing, hugging, declaring to a father who knew nothing of what she was doing, I still didn't speak. Paul watched from the doorway, his eyes never leaving her form, just smiling a small sad smile. And when Rei had all but gone hysterical, Paul joined her in her chair, rocking her into a quite sleep. I still didn't speak, or cry, I just sat on the floor, holding the hand of a man who made me who I was, bad and good. The man who once told me that crying wasn't for babies or for girls, that crying was for everyone and anyone who had ever loved someone and lost them.

Late into the night, I sat and squeezed Billy's fingers, hoping that if I held on tight enough, it would mean I wouldn't lose him. Even with the doctors who came in regularly, who told me that Billy was, "Really, rather sick…"

The ones who trailed their sentences, leaving it to me to put together the pieces and think the dirty words associated with death. But I still clung, wondering if I could will him better, wondering if I had just cared a little more before, then maybe now he wouldn't be in that stuffy hospital room. And we still spoke of nothing, because I wouldn't and he couldn't. Because I was scared and he was dying.

So in the middle of that late night, when it was just about to the point where those fingers of sunshine would seep into the rooms on the east. I felt the fingers, that I had used as a life preserver, wrapped around mine in return, putting little pressure on my knuckles. My head tilted up, catching the long dark hair I had become accustom to since I was a kid; the same strong dark irises peered back at me, defeated.

And we didn't say anything to each other for a while. Both of us just basked in the moment we had, in the silence of knowing and the chaos of mute. Neither Rachel or Paul stirred, and when Billy cocked his head towards them, he smiled proudly. He knew his little girl was going to be taken care of. And then his eyes fell to mine again, and they saddened.

"You know, when I met your mother she hated me." My dad's voice was hoarse, but a tinge of happy remembrance lifted the corner of his mouth.

I gaped.

"And she just wouldn't admit she liked me, but of course I knew." He winked, and I couldn't help but smile up at him. That sounded just like her.

"That seems like something she would do." I thought of how mom never admitted defeat.

"She was a damn stubborn woman. It took me three months to get it out of her, and even then all she said was, '_Y'know, you're sort of beautiful.'_" He grinned, and it reached his eyes, as he stared out the window, not at the stars, he wasn't in a hospital bed, he was next to a beautiful Quileute girl. "She couldn't just say, 'I like you,' no she had to be cryptic… Ahh, I loved her."

"Me too." I felt the familiar pang of loss that came when I spoke of my mother.

I thought that Billy was done talking, that he was going to let the silence settle in again, maybe even sleep again. "What you're doing with the Clearwater girl isn't right, Jake."

My head snapped up, but he wasn't looking at me, his hand in mine twitched. "What?"

Had we been seen before this morning? At the cliffs, or in the woods the other day? No one was supposed to know…

"Jacob, if you are going to grow up and be a man, you need to know that when you care about a woman you can't just toy with her. You may think that she is okay with it, but she isn't and if you are the boy I raised you shouldn't be okay with it either." I couldn't look at him; I just glared into my lap.

_How did he know?_

"She's lost her father, and you know what happened with her boyfriend and her cousin. I don't want you taking advantage of that."

"What?!" I jumped a little, and looked at my father incredulously. How could he even think that.

"Do you really… I mean could you… Do you really think of me that way, dad?"

His eyes scanned mine for a few seconds before he hung his head, "No, Jake."

My head nodded.

"But if what these doctors have been saying is true, then I wanted to make sure I did right by make sure I did right by you, son."

"Dad, don't…" I couldn't think about him being gone.

"Now, I ain't going to skirt by it. I need to be a man myself, and accept this. I've had a good run, I raised good kids," He smiled over at Rachel, and then back at me.

"But dad…" My throat started to swell, and I coughed on my words.

_How can he be so okay about this…?_

I tugged my hand from his, and pushed my fingers through my hair. Tangling each strand around each finger, and fisting it. The thought of his death was too much, I couldn't lose him too in the same place where mom was lost. I didn't want to be alone. Who was I going to watch the game with, and who was going to sit in his chair? Who was going to remind me what my social security number was? And who was going to be first on my emergency contact information? Those were his things and his spots. And they would be empty when he was gone, no one could replace him. I only had two parents, and now I was about to lose my last one.

"Go to sleep, Jake. I'll be here when you wake up, promise."

He couldn't keep that promise, and he knew it. But it didn't stop me from drifting into a slow, melodic sleep, one where I didn't dream at all, but I was still restless. It didn't take much to wake me, so when I heard the commotion, the sobbing all blurred together, my eyelids flickered open. And then I was shoved out of the way, the first thing I saw was Rachel who was wide eyed, crying in the direction of our dad. Where a team of nurses, and a doctor were huddled around, flashing comments back and forth to one another. Trying as hard as they could to resuscitate the frail bundle of person tucked under a knotted white blanket.

The tears came instantly, as did a time of death followed by those words uttered to a young boy at his mother's funeral.

"_Don't worry, Jake, go ahead and cry. It's okay to when you lose your mommy… or anyone you love."_

I was out that stupid fake door, past the other fucking room where she died. I ran over the dull grey linoleum, Rachel yelled my name and tears stamped out of my eyes. They came faster than I could wipe them away, blurring everything into one, and everyone into someone unrecognizable. So when I saw her, I didn't know. Not until I felt her hands on my face, and her arms engulf me; my forehead came down on top of her hair. She stroked the nape of my neck, and my fingers dig into her forearms, ragged gasps of air were being sucked into my lungs as I cried.

And everything I did, she copied and made tender. When I fell to the floor, taking her with me, she cradled my form as best she could, telling me all the stories we hear while growing up. All the stories Billy had told me and everyone else on the reservation. But hearing her whispering the words, it didn't upset me, it calmed my heavy breath.

So there we sat, for most of the day, with Leah repeating legends of wolves, and imprints. Her fingers twisting in my hair, her thumb brushing over my cheek. My mind still raced with _What If'_s, and accusations, it couldn't fathom anything real, it was locked in a constant loop of denial.

Billy couldn't be dead.

Billy was alive.

Dad couldn't be dead.

Dad was alive.

But each time I came to the same ending, the same truth, and the same regret.

I tried to see it his way, with acceptance and understanding, but I couldn't. I never would be able to process what he was thinking the night before, why he felt it was okay to let go without so much as a fight. I would just have to wonder, until the night when I die. He didn't even say goodbye.

But he did tell me something that would never ever leave my thoughts. His words were etched forever into my head, and as I turned my gaze to Leah, I remember what he wanted from me.

"You're sort of beautiful."


End file.
